


Not A Child

by SelwynBlack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelwynBlack/pseuds/SelwynBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again Lestrade is stuck dealing with Sherlock after a drug fall out. Another comment about Sherlock's maturity leaves the detective blushing like a school girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Child

Sherlock was bored, terribly so, and it was too late for Lestrade to be called in if a crime had been committed that night since he had left the office. Sulking he turned in his position on the couch to look at the clock across the room. It was nearing three am and Sherlock was too wired to sleep, too bored to move and, too unmotivated to play his violin, well that and John would absolutely murder him. The past few days John had been exceptionally moody with him and insisted that even with his earplugs he could hear Sherlock playing the violin at god awful hours of the night. And according to John Sherlock's violin was keeping him from getting the proper amount of sleep that a person with a normal 9-5 job needed. Sherlock thought it was rubbish.

So Sherlock found himself removing the bathroom mirror from the wall to reveal the small box shaped hole he had cut into the dry wall to hide his stash. He set himself up rather quickly to inject the needle full of morphine into his vein and quickly did so before stowing his stash away and making his way out into the sitting room. Sherlock didn't even make it fully onto the couch before he passed out on the floor in a drugged stupor. This was what he did when he got this bored. The next thing he was truly aware of in his conscious mind was someone moving around the kitchen and the smell of tea. After a few moments he began to realize that he would not be going back to sleep anytime soon and dragged his body into a sitting position on the lumpy couch. Sherlock rubbed his bleary sleep ridden eye as he looked around the sitting room the light stunning his eyes a tad.

A low groan rumbled in his chest. "John?" Sherlock called out, sincerely hoping his flat mate had made enough coffee for the both of them.

In the kitchen he heard a sound that was most certainly an amused snort moments later Detective Investigator Gregory Lestrade strolled into the sitting room of 221B Baker Street holding two mugs of tea. "Where's John?" Sherlock asked.

"You're the genius make a deduction," Lestrade said, handing Sherlock one of the mugs, before taking a seat on John's chair.

Sherlock threw him a dirty look. "Must've gone to work already then, what time is it?" he asked.

"About half four."

Sherlock grinned. He'd slept a good thirteen hours or so that was amusing. "Well do you need something Detective?" Sherlock asked a smile still on his face.

Lestrade's nose twitched ever so slightly. He loved that smile, but of course he had no plan to tell Sherlock this.

"I did," Lestrade began, his dark chocolate eyes watching Sherlock with indistinct interest and worry. "But it will have to wait."

"Oh?" Sherlock commented leaning toward the salt and pepper haired detective. "Why's that?"

At that moment Lestrade wanted to think, perhaps even believe, that Sherlock's grin was flirty and that perhaps the young consulting detective was as taken with him. Lestrade didn't know if he really wanted it though. Sherlock was much like a child. He wanted to explain the fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach and the ache of worry in his heart away as a crush, but it had been growing for some time. It washed over him sometimes when he least expected it. Those particular feelings were what had caused Lestrade to stay at the flat until Sherlock woke, forget the fact Mycroft had requested he looks out for Sherlock; he had wanted to be there.

His brow furrowed as he considered Sherlock's inquiry. Did he really think him so thick he wouldn't know about the drugs? Not even Sherlock, who slept like the dead on the rare occasion he did, would have woken to the amount of noise going on in the flat next door. "I'm not stupid you know," Lestrade blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Really?"

"I know you've been using Sherlock, think of what Mycr-" Lestrade began.

His words however were cut short by Sherlock slamming down the mug and stalking over to the window -arms crossed as he stared out with his stormy eyes into the rain. "I don't care."

Lestrade sighed. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his index finger and thumb against both, sighing heavily as he rubbed his hand over his face, attempting to shut out the his thoughts-the ones pertaining to Sherlock, or the lecture he'd receive from Mycroft. "Don't be childish," Lestrade said in a semi-forced soothing tone.

He took a few steps toward Sherlock until he was close enough to touch him, but he didn't touch him. Sherlock's moods were quite volatile in regard to anything involving his brother.

A loud snort was the only reply Lestrade received. "Don't treat me like a child," Sherlock said after a moment or two more.

"I don't," Lestrade said defensively.

Slender pale arms crossed themselves over Sherlock's chest as he turned to face Lestrade again. "Oh really?"

"Yes really."

The tone in Lestrade's voice was as earnest and true as it always was and for some reason it caused a smirk to grow in a sprawl across Sherlock's full lips.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"I would disagree with you," Sherlock stated uncrossing his arms and sliding one hand into his pocket as the other raked through his dark curls. Lestrade's eyes followed his hand as if pushed lazily through the locks of hair. For a brief moment he was mesmerized by the gesture.

"Why's that?"

There was a distinct glint of mischief, different than the usual one, in the storm grey eyes as Sherlock regarded Lestrade for a moment, analyzing him. The attention, or maybe the intensity of the eyes, was beginning to create a feeling of warmth under his collar as Lestrade mentally scrambled for a change of subject, but he didn't get very far. His chocolate eyes broke from the gaze of Sherlock's cool grey ones for a fraction of a second-as he loosened his collar a tad- and when he looked up the same eyes were only a few centimeters from his own face.

"What're you doing Sherlock?"

The smirk he'd had was then replaced by a look of deep thought and concentration. "Why?"

"Why what?" Lestrade asked.

"Why'd you still love your ex-wife?"

Lestrade frowned. "I don't. It's all in the past, not that it's your business."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. Then in a split second, too quick for Lestrade to really react, Sherlock leaned forward pressing his full lips flush against Lestrade's. The breathing of the older male was caught in his throat as he processed what was going on before he slowly, and steadily, relaxed into the kiss, and his hands fell to Sherlock's frighteningly thin waist. At first having his breathe taken away by the urgency with which Sherlock had kissed him Lestrade's thoughts were a tangle of uninterruptable junk. As his thoughts began to return to normal, he adapted to the feeling of Sherlock's chest flush against his, and the searing heat of his extremely pale skin, Lestrade began to wonder.

He didn't understand why Sherlock was kissing him. There were never any signs before that Sherlock returned any sort of feelings for him, in fact there were no signs the quirky detective had any feelings, at all so why all of a sudden.

Lestrade experimentally bit down on Sherlock's bottom lip. There was little to no response that was awfully disconcerting. Sherlock had initiated and yet he didn't seem to be kissing back nearly as much as Lestrade was kissing him, perhaps he didn't know how to kiss?

Reluctantly Lestrade pulled back his brow furrowed at Sherlock. The look on his face was as usual, chilly and calculating, and nothing like it had been moments before the kiss. Had he been that bad of a kisser he'd scared Sherlock off?

"What?" Lestrade asked feeling the blush creep across his lightly tanned cheeks.

Sherlock shrugged and strode back over to the couch and took his tea off the table. "See I'm not a child," Sherlock said simply.


End file.
